Saturday, January 28, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Toronto "mom rock" event
exceeds wildest dreams!
We had an amazing day. It truly exceeded our wildest expectations. The Globe and Mail put in a brief which attracted a few mums. Some heard about it on the radio. Based on what we saw, we are certain there are loads more out there!
We had ten acts including two quite amazing grandmothers: Debbie Fleming (above) and the Choir Girlz wowed 'em with a couple of jaw-droppers about the domestic life. Melody Ranch favourite Sandi Marie (below) cut loose with her observations on family life.
And speaking of Sandi Marie, she is generously extending her gig next month at Grossman's Tavern to guest mom talent and bands. The date is Thursday, Feb. 23. If you would like to participate, you can contact Sandi via her website.
There were more, and I will post in days to follow. Everyone was totally blown away at the range and scope of the talent. Of course, there plenty of kids in tow, supporting their mums.
FLASH! We are solid on the official Mamapalooza Toronto venue and date: Make a note:
Mother's Day (Sunday, May 14)
1585 Dundas St. West
Toronto, Ontario, Canada. M6K 1T9
Reservations and Inquiries: 416.588.0307
We're doing it in the afternoon into the evening. Bring your family and celebrate Mother's Day with your mom....and ours!
Best overheard line from a dad to his son: "Don't touch the lady's axe!"
Moms Rock! Get involved!
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Musical moms' gathering this Saturday
at the Safari Bar and Grill
If you're a hot-rockin' mama, strut your stuff at the Safari Bar and Grill this Saturday, January 21, from 1 to 4 p.m. at 1749 Avenue Road. We are getting together for an informal open mike to share our tunes, art and experiences in anticipation of the Mamapalooza festival this May.
Come and learn more.
Yours in MomRockdom,
Sunday, January 08, 2006
I did a poetry reading with Canadian poet laureate Irving Layton at Grossman's Tavern one rainy afternoon on Spadina Avenue in Toronto, autumn of 1983. The newspaper would compare us as fervent Zionists in a positive light -- he, the "lionesque" one, in the late September of his life, and me with my "lusty, youthful enthusiasm" -- their comment. My mum was very proud.
I fell in love with Irving on the spot. He revved my engines and got my juices flowing. I did not read my selections that rainy afternoon -- I channeled them from a deep, unseen place. The joint went crazy. But I wasn't in the moment. I needed to please Irving. I picked up the guitar and sang to him from the stage. An old jazz classic. He giggled, piercing me with those fiery eyes of pure coal. He just made you want to deliver your best stuff. He made you get all crazy. You could not be near him and not be forever altered by him. He had a euphoric toxicity that got into your bloodstream and went straight to your head. Opium? Heroin? The stuff of amateurs. Irving was the real deal. Even as an old man he was like a young Brando. I went home and wrote a poem about him. I gave it to him a year later, with trembling hands:
A Message for Mr. Layton
it was on an entirely gruelling afternoon
and there sat I
suffering the waste of words
and entire lack of
theatrics and dimension
out of the mouths of the angry
and the confused
masked in the guise
of the Poet.
it were as if I was being taught to speed read out loud.
you turned every crooked plank
of the ghastly, dim space
into a lyric
you painted pictures
with your eloquent tongue
just five little words
held still the clock
my heart pushed heavily
against my female breast
do you know how beautiful you are?
does that really matter?
Nov. 1, 1983, 10 a.m.
(c) Lynda Marks
He is still in my blood. Thank you, Irving. Baruch Dayan Emet.